We now turn into the Nærö Fjord in brilliant twilight, and some of the grandest and wildest scenery of Sogn is presented to our view. We observe that the kind shepherd is covering up with a sackcloth the smallest lambs, which are in the packing-case on the fore-deck, as a protection from the cool night air, which is rather inclined to be frosty, even on this lovely night of May. The farther we advance up this fjord, the more sombre and overpowering is the impression we receive of this magnificent fjord scenery.
We now approach the little hamlet of Dyrdal, romantically situated at the entrance to the narrow valley of the same name. Here huge mountains rear their massive walls into the twilight sky. The Nærö Fjord is narrowest at this point, being only a few hundred yards wide.
The sound of the steamer's syren now echoes with a metallic ring from one mountain to another in diminishing cadence of sweet notes, and in reply two large boats put out from shore to meet the steamer. With much struggling the woolly flock is transferred to the boats from the steamer, the sheep and lambs appearing quite happy—to judge by the sound of their voices—at the prospect of being on terra firma again.
At a lonely farm situated in the wildest part of Nærö Fjord it was my happy fortune to stay for some days in the merry month of May. On my arrival there, and in compliance with a signal from shore, the steamer slows up, and a boat is brought alongside. A friendly good-bye to the obliging captain, and I am rowed ashore, where I meet the kind owner of the farm, my host. He and his good wife ("kone") show me through the house, an excellent example of a "bonder's" home of the olden time.
The principal living-room is about twenty feet square. The walls display unusually thick baulks of timber, while the huge beams show distinctly the marks of the axe which fashioned them. The heavy doors are nearly square in shape, with lock and handle of antique design in wrought-iron. On one side of this room stands an elevated open hearth ("peis"), over which hangs a crane, and to this is attached a huge copper cauldron. The smoke from the peat fire escapes through the roof by a very wide open chimney. A clean-scrubbed massive table almost fills one end of the room by the side of the wall-benches. High-backed chairs, several spinning-wheels, and a carpet-weaving frame help to fill up this spacious apartment.
To reach the room set apart for me I must climb up wooden ladder-like steps. My room, simply but comfortably furnished, was fresh and clean. On the left side in a dark corner was the customary low, wooden, box-like bed, which I saw at a glance was, for one of my stature, much too short. It was piled high with some soft material on the top. This covering proved on examination to be a 4-feet square air-tight bag containing eiderdown about a foot deep. Under this was only the thinnest cotton sheet, and I began to wonder how these two as a covering could possibly remain together in harmony throughout the night, and as to whether they were calculated to cover all one's limbs at one and the same time.
On being very considerately asked on the following morning how I had slept, and if I would like an extra eiderdown on, I courteously but firmly declined.
In the Nærö Fjord